


from being over here to being over there

by orphan_account



Series: along the invisible curve [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-12 09:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mandatory High School AU. 1st in "along the invisible curve".<br/>Johnny and Stéphane are best friends in high school. One day, they go skating. Then they fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hell, I have no idea what to say about this, except I am massive fail on so many levels. Read at your own risk :D
> 
> (Extra note: it should be obvious that it's all fiction. Johnny and Stéphane, of course, but especially any depicted friends and family. I have no idea what they're really like, and I'm sure they're glad about that, too.)

_fall, 2000_

 

One sunny afternoon, bored out of his mind, Johnny decided that going to the rink to learn to skate would be a good idea. He was sixteen, and the first time he put on skates, he felt at home.

He skated for over four hours before he had enough of the cold, lips tinged blue, and on the way back towards the house where he lived with his parents and his brother, he was smiling, even though the sky was gray and autumn gave the air that crisp coolness that was too warm yet to wear a thick jacket, but too cold to not shiver when a gust of wind blew down the street.

He was almost up to the front door, knocking boots against the small step that led up to it to get the dirt off the soles, when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, giving off the latest Christina Aguilera tune in midi format that he'd gotten off the internet.

"What's going on?" he asked a bit breathlessly, jumping up and down. His mom hated it when he brought fallen leaves home with his shoes. He thought, walking in ice skates, that would never happen. But then, the world wasn't made of ice. It was a bit sad.

"Shift's out early," the boy on the other end proclaimed happily, "I'm free all evening."

"That's awesome," Johnny grinned. "You want me to come over, or -"

"I'll take my bike and be at yours later; Christophe's driving me crazy."

"... why is it we don't pack him off with Brian and ship them off to somewhere where slavery's still an option?"

Stéphane gave a laugh. "Don't be a bitch, Johnny."

"Well, what else am I supposed to be?"

"You can be a-ny-thing you want if you manage to hook up to the 'net before I'm there. RPG tonight, right?"

"Right."

"What's up? You sound weird."

"I _am_ weird," Johnny snorted.

"Silly, I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, I didn't either."

Stéphane gave a sigh and hung up. Johnny rolled his eyes - it wasn't like _he_ cared what people called him in that stupid school behind his back. Not like it was any news anyway that his name could be mistreated in any kind of way and fashion. He just hoped nobody was going to find out about his middle name - now _that_ would sting a bit.

Anyway, Stéphane was way too sensitive about the whole thing. He should get over himself. Johnny nodded, huffed and unlocked the door, stepping inside with a loud, "I'm home!"

 

~*~

 

Dinner was, as always, a rather quiet affair. His dad still wasn't home, back at the hospitals for a few days, and his mom looked drawn, tired. Johnny never asked about it. It wasn't that he didn't like to talk to her, but she had other things on her mind these days, money problems and grown-up things and his dad's returning back problems.

Brian at least wasn't being his usual chatty self, quiet and immersed in a book about which he was probably going to have a test, because he never else read a lot, preferring to play soccer or football instead.

"What's it about?" Johnny asked softly as he emptied his plate, spaghetti stale, the sauce not nearly spicey enough for his taste. The binding of the book said, _Catch 22_.

Brian glanced up, little smirk on his face. "Something you'd like, I'm sure. Bunch of guys fooling around while being all sarcastic about it."

"Funny," Johnny glared.

Their mom turned back from the fridge and gave Brian a look. "Oh, so you've finally found your way to the Oscar Wilde part of the library?"

Brian flushed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that she's hoping you might yet dump that little tramp of yours and join the winning team of this competition," Johnny said dryly.

"Johnny, language," his mom chided.

"Lacoste is perfectly nice!" Brian protested, giving his mother a reproachful look.

Johnny half-spit his spaghetti back on his plate from laughter. "She's a spiteful little crow and she calls herself like an apparel brand!"

Brian narrowed his eyes. "Mom, Johnny's slandering my girlfriend."

"More like, the school slut -"

"Johnny! That's enough," their mom said sharply. "Really, stop riling up your brother. Brian, sit down. Please. Finish your dinner."

"How would _you_ know anyway," Brian spat. "It's not like you're even allowed to talk to the classy people in the school, gay boy!"

"Brian, stop that, right now."

Johnny winced. And that was end of the fun, that tone of voice always preceded a lecture or some kind of reprimand that would maybe - depending on Brian's ungraceful retreat - drag after it some kind of punishment.

"It's fine," he quickly said and shrugged. "Really. Let's just... not do this tonight, huh?" And anyway, it wasn't really fair that Brian should take the fall tonight; after all, they had both thrown stones.

The atmosphere at the table after that was still tense, but at least, it took them only minutes to finish off their plates, so it wasn't too long to sit out.

 

~*~

 

Stéphane came over half an hour after Johnny'd helped wash the dishes with Brian drying by the table. Johnny'd finished his homework by then, quick as always to understand the problems and solve them, or translate the texts. It wasn't all that hard to read French, after all, when your best friend was a native speaker and you'd been practicing since you were both freshmen.

As always, Stéphane brought cookies and chocolate. Brian gave Stéphane a wave as they passed him, and Johnny glared at him to keep to his room. Brian just gave him an undefinable grin and shut the door behind himself.

"Whoa, what's with the tension?" Stéphane asked, blinking.

Johnny shrugged. "Brian's being a complete ass. What else is new. Anyway, let's not talk about that. Hey, you can totally bribe him with chocolate for me."

Stéphane laughed. "If you really want me to. You should know though that if you give him some now he'll keep expecting it. Better just punch him once. 's what I did last time Christophe ran off his mouth."

Johnny stopped, turned and stared at him open-mouthed. "You punched someone? You punched your little brother?"

Stéphane flushed. "It was more of a... misguided attempt to knuckle his head...." he admitted. "But! It worked!"

Johnny broke out in laughter. "I just bet it did."

 

~*~

 

They roleplayed a few hours with some online friends, but the game was lamer than usual and it was barely eight when they logged off.

"How comes the boss let you off early today?" Johnny asked, sitting down on the floor by his bed.

Stéphane took up his place upon it, propping up his feet, laying his head on his knees. "Christophe was there to help out for the rest of the evening, and business was way slow, so she sent me off. Not a big deal. I bet mom just didn't want me to see the nice guy that comes over at least once a week who flirts with her like hell."

"Huh." Johnny tilted his head. "Your mom dating again?"

Stéphane shrugged morosely. "Not that I know of." Then he seemed to shrug off the thoughts and laid back down, head hanging over the edge of the bed. "Anyway, where did you vanish to? You didn't pick up your phone when I called earlier. Secret date?"

He did sound a little hurt - not to be let in on the secret, probably - and Johnny was quick to shake his head. "I actually went to the rink. You know. The one at the other end of the town."

Stéphane gave him a worried look. "You really shouldn't go there. All the hockey players keep meeting up there even if they don't have practice. Tommy Branson isn't exactly going to let your last little prank slip and if he gets you alone -"

Johnny pushed at his forehead. "Stop worrying, nothing happened. And I was inside the rink, not by the rink, so it's all good. There are adult people there. Anyway, I skated."

Stéphane grinned. "You did? How was it? Did it feel good? Better than jerking off?"

Johnny grinned back. "Almost?"

"Was that supposed to be a statement?" Stéphane fell back onto the bed, laughing. "You are _such_ a strange person, Johnny. Skating, of all things."

Johnny got off the floor and climbed up onto the bed. "It's not like you have room to talk, Mr. my-chocolate-chip-cookies-will-be-the-best, and-if-I-have-to-murder-Sandra-to-get-her-receipe," he poked.

Stéphane pouted. "I still haven't gotten that one out of her. And she's keeping the honey-cream-cakes from me! It's not fair, she's got a clear advantage! She's a woman!"

Johnny climbered over to settle on his thighs and put both hands on Stéphane's waist, crumbling the shirt beneath his fingers. Then he made a thoughtful face. "It's a miracle, it is, how you stay this skinny while eating that much sugar!"

He traced the smooth line from his fingers up Stéphane's chest to his face, and expected maybe a yelp, or an offended glare, but instead, there was a heavy silence suddenly. It was one of those moments, and a high flush spread over Stéphane's cheeks. He didn't close his eyes, dark and wide open, staring at Johnny with a tinge of something deep and coiling.

The moment carried on; Johnny slowly licked his lips, biting down on his bottom one. It would be easy, he thought, now, to reach out and maybe... he felt himself grow hot at the thought, swallowed once, quickly, because his mouth dried out, and his throat felt raw, and then, the hotness of Stéphane's skin through the denim was everything there was. The air seemed sucked out of the room, making it hard to breathe, and Johnny's stomach turned, wound into a tight little ball.

A blink later, he'd already sat back on his heels, and then tumbled against the wall his bed was pushed against. "Anyway," he said, cleared his throat, staring at the far wall that was hung with little frames and photographs, and the occasional poster of a singer, some of newly risen star Christina Aguilera, some of not-so-new Madonna.

Stéphane sat up as well, slower, and glid back to the other wall, looking at Johnny strangely. However, he didn't help, didn't say anything, so Johnny blurted out something he hadn't meant to share, not for a while at least, because they seldom talked about things like that.

"I met a guy," he said quickly, feeling himself redden again. He steadily ignored the flash of hurt in Stéphane's eyes that was gone even quicker than it had appeared and that he didn't even really notice, since he wasn't looking at Stéphane in the first place. "Actually, I didn't meet him as in, newly... I... kind of knew him before, of course, well, you do as well, but -"

Stéphane made a little sound that sounded like encouragement, and Johnny noticed he was starting to flounder, so he shut his mouth for a little moment before he said, "Evan, you know?"

Stéphane's eyebrows rose immediately. "Evan? You met Evan at the rink, are you sure?"

Johnny shrugged. "He said he practices there a lot. Has been for forever, just skating around. He doesn't want to join the hockey team. Apparently, he's more into figure skating."

Stéphane grinned. "Of all people. Could have fooled me, with that attitude."

"Yes, well, he was really nice."

"Was he now?" Stéphane snorted derisively. "And why's that, do you think? Not, possibly, because he was trying to get in your pants or anything."

Johnny felt himself flush in anger. He didn't even know what was going on with Stéphane, or why he himself was defending what he knew to be a ruse to get him worked up and bitchy. But it wasn't like he was one to let something like this slide without giving his opinion, so he snapped, "First off, just because he's into figure skating does not immediately mean he's gay -"

"- I didn't -"

"- shut up. And secondly, you don't even know him, or have ever spoken a word to him in your life! So you can just fuck off and stop talking to me about his motives, because you don't know shit."

Stéphane was off the bed in a second, stomping towards the door in much less than his usual gracefulness. "Fuck you, Johnny," he muttered and then, before he opened the door, he turned and cocked his head, adding wryly, "You've talked to him once, you stupid idiot, and he's already got you out of your pants. Figure that."

"Guess what, all you ever do is run away, so hey. Go right ahead."

Stéphane rolled his eyes and did exactly that. After he'd left, door slamming shut with a satisfying groan, Johnny huffed and rubbed his eyes, watering in anger. Why did his best friend have to be such a boneheaded little queen, anyway.

 

~*~

 

The next day at school, Johnny passed Evan by the lockers, standing with a very pretty brown-haired girl from a year below, talking and laughing and he touched her shoulder and she smiled hugely back at him.

When Johnny gave him a nod, he nodded back, civil, but slightly more cool than he'd done the day before, and otherwise ignored Johnny completely. Frustrated, Johnny made his way to the classroom, first period French of all things, and when he arrived, he couldn't help but feel a huge stone drop off his heart when he saw Stéphane had, as always, kept the seat next to him free.

Johnny slipped into the seat and bit his lip, looking at him intensely. Stéphane didn't return the gaze, fidgeting a little, and then more, until he couldn't bear the silent stare anymore and turned, facing Johnny. "Oh, fuck, it's fine, okay? Just don't make a scene," he said, scowling

Johnny gave a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry." He wasn't really, and his pride still stung from the treatment by the lockers, but he wasn't going to say that, not even to Stéphane. Let him think Johnny was the smarter one to give in.

Stéphane, instead of going with it, just gave him a knowing look and took out a parcel from his bag, throwing it onto Johnny's table. "Here. Doughnuts. You should eat more, says my mom. You're too skinny."

Johnny laughed. "Well, so are you."

Stéphane nodded, serious. "That is what she keeps telling me, too."

It shouldn't have been so funny, but something about the suffering face with which he said it made it satisfyingly hilarious.

 

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

_early in 2001_

 

Skating became one of Johnny's favorite pastimes. He didn't have a lot of money, but he dealt, worked some shifts in Stéphane's mom's bakery to afford a pair of skates that weren't completely crappy and made sure to chat up the lady at the cashier's counter... after a few weeks, she warmed up to him to a point where she started grinning every time he arrived, and after four months, she let him slip in for free if he had no money, which happened occasionally, but not too often.

The second time he went, Stéphane insisted on coming with him. At first, Johnny was a little reserved about the idea - it was his special place, after all, and he liked it just fine that he was alone and could do whatever he wanted with nobody knowing him there.

But then Stéphane turned out to be a fairly talented skater from the start, and Johnny realized it was even more fun if they were the two of them, helping each other out learning to skate backwards and spinning around and even jumping and playing tag.

However, while skating itself would have been more than enough to pull him back in, there was another thing that constantly tugged at him, no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the simple fact that sometimes, Evan was at the rink, too, and he liked to watch Evan. He liked to talk to Evan, liked to just be _there_ with him, that nice feeling at the bottom of his stomach that always made him want to jerk off right after he got off the ice.

It suddenly didn't matter at all that Evan was in his class, because they were two different people. Evan in class didn't especially notice Johnny at all; he didn't sneer and make smutty jokes and occasionally bang Johnny against the lockers and he didn't tape post-its with names on his bag pack, but he didn't defend Johnny either, he just stayed at the back, dark-eyed and not-looking-at-all and ignored everything that went on.

Sometimes, it infuriated Johnny, made him want to take a heavy book out of his backpack and throw it against Evan's head, snarling, 'wake up, you fucking moron, I want you to do something', but he didn't, of course.

When he returned to the rink a few weeks after he'd first started, his time coincided again with Evan's, though, and Stéphane had been unable to come with him. It wasn't Johnny who made the first move then, still a bit miffed about the silent treatment. It was Evan, really, who skated up to him and smiled.

"How're you doing?" he asked. His voice was still nice, and he still had the prettiest eyes, and Johnny still wanted to touch his neck and his forearms and the angles of his hips.

"I'm fine," Johnny replied, a little more sharply than intended, and started tying his skates tightly, making sure they weren't too snug.

Evan raised his hands. "I was just asking. I didn't see you around for a while, thought you might have given up."

Johnny shook his head. "I don't have a routine yet, I'm coming whenever I have the money. You here every Thursday, then?"

Evan nodded. "Saturdays, Mondays and Thursdays. I love to practice, even though I'm too old to really compete on the levels. Hey, look, I can teach you a loop, I can do an almost-double by now."

Johnny gaped. "You can?" He'd been trying any jumps and all of them, but it wasn't so easy, and it hurt a lot, too. Not as much as getting beat up in the toilets by some seniors, but it still hurt.

"Your legs aren't strong enough, though," Evan grinned. "You need to work out off the ice too."

Johnny narrowed his eyes. "Are you saying I'm weak?"

"I wouldn't!" Evan laughed, eyes glittering with mirth.

Johnny felt a spike of desire at the laugh, felt his gaze drop to Evan's mouth; he hadn't ever even kissed anyone, but he wanted to, sharply, like the rigged edge of a broken glass. He got up in a rush and almost stumbled over his own feet.

"We should get back on the ice," he announced. "You can show me."

And Evan did.

 

~*~

 

He didn't know why he was sneaking around, at all, with Evan. It wasn't like they were doing something forbidden, it wasn't that they were... more than something normal, like, friends, they weren't even all that close. Still, every time Johnny knew now Evan would be at the rink he made sure to be clear he wanted to go alone to Stéphane or blocked the visit and laid it on another day or another time.

He had no idea why. It just made him feel a little strange, imagining Stéphane seeing them together, like he was feeling guilty about something that he shouldn't really feel guilty about. After all, Stéphane was still his friend. It wasn't like he was friend-cheating or anything, Evan was just... different. Evan was new and interesting and exciting. And Evan made his heart beat harder in his chest and his palms feel sweaty beneath his gloves and sometimes, when he skated by very close, or put his hand on Johnny's arm or hip, Johnny could feel his cock harden in his jeans and was glad for the long training jacket he always wore to the rink.

It was a Monday when it all came out into the open, unplanned and completely random, a few weeks after Christmas, towards the end of January already; Stéphane had told him he couldn't come, was working, and Johnny had shrugged and told him he'd go on his own then.

He felt good walking down the street, skates in his training bag, not guilty at all, because this time he didn't actually have to lie to his best friend, and Evan would be there, which meant maybe today, he'd finally land the stupid jump and they could practice more on the spin Johnny had been so good at, last time they'd tried.

Johnny was still a little annoyed that when he'd showed it to Stéphane last week, it had taken Stéphane barely two hours to put on the ice what had taken Johnny two sessions with Evan over two weeks. But then, Stéphane was good at spins. He barely had to see it on TV and he managed to almost exactly copy it in no time at all.

He had, for once, enough money, still leftover from Christmas, though that was thinning, so he paid for his entrance and immediately caught Evan's eye as the other boy stood up, all dressed and ready to get on the ice. Evan grinned and waved.

Johnny waved back, made his way over.

"I thought you weren't coming today?" Evan asked, curious.

Johnny shrugged. "Changed my mind. I _am_ allowed that, you know?"

"I know, I know. Geez, you touchy again today? Because if so, we can not -"

"It's fine. I'm good." Johnny took a deep breath, calming his nerves, willing his cheeks to un-blush. "Sorry. Let me just put on my skates and we can..."

"Great. I'll be skating around a bit."

They practiced for about an hour like that, laughing and touching and every time Evan's hand touched his, Johnny felt himself redden and couldn't help it, and a few times, Evan corrected his position by putting his hand on Johnny's back or his neck, and it made a prickle run down his spine, an ache for Evan to touch more, longer, to slide his fingers over his naked back, rather, over his lips and maybe, his cock.

After one such moment, just as Evan took a step back and nodded at him, Johnny closed his eyes, composing himself again, trying to get his breathing back under control to be able to spin the way Evan had instructed, when suddenly, Evan straightened his shoulders a bit and Johnny could _feel_ the temperature drop a few degrees, tension building up between them.

Johnny turned, and saw Evan glance in the direction of the stands where they'd put their bags, and then he realized what Evan was looking at. Stéphane was looking back, mouth open, the sling of his backpack halfway off his shoulder.

"Fuck," Johnny muttered. His stomach dropped a thousand stories.

Evan turned. "What's your friend doing here? Does he skate too?"

"He - he does," Johnny replied quietly. "He - I mean, uhm, we... we come together, sometimes."

"I've never seen you together."

Johnny winced at the curious expression on Evan's face. "Look, I'll - I'll be back in a second, I'll - I have to -" he waved towards Stéphane and took off without waiting for Evan's reply. His stomach was still swirling, and he thought he really shouldn't have eaten that snack, because he felt really sick, like there was something crawling up his throat, forcing its way out of his air pipe.

"Hey," Stéphane said carefully.

"Ah." Johnny skidded to a halt and got off the ice, moving towards him carefully. "Look, I didn't -"

"- it's fine."

Johnny stopped in mid-speech, words already prepared in his head, and it probably wouldn't have sold Stéphane, because Stéphane wasn't fucking stupid, but apparently, he didn't even need to. "What?" Johnny asked.

Stéphane let the backpack fall on the seat and turned to face him again, all expression wiped blank. "Don't play me for a fool, Johnny, it's bad enough you've been lying for months. If you were planning to tell me you've only just met him today by accident - _better_ think again, because that might just be the last straw."

Johnny shook his head. "Sorry."

Stéphane sat down heavily. "So, let me think then..." he frowned. "Uhm... that would be Mondays, then? And... hm, Thursdays in the evening? Do I have that right? How about... Saturday morning? That ring a bell?"

Johnny flushed. "Stéphane -"

"Oh, fucking hell, spare me, Johnny. Not even the puppy eyes can get you out of this one properly."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"Hurt me?" Stéphane looked at him like he was crazy. "By not telling me, you've made some kind of huge affair out of this! What are the two of you doing that would shock me, or, god forbid, hurt me? Fucking? Oh, hell, like I don't know you've been wanting that since you met him last year."

"I did not!"

Stéphane gave him a look that shut him up very quickly. "You could have just said you wanted to spend time with him. I wouldn't have freaked out. It would have spared me some real worries too, because you've been acting dead strange lately. I thought maybe something was going on with your dad you didn't want to talk about and that was why you kept putting me off every week the same days."

Johnny felt his already red face grow even hotter. "I - I have no idea what to say."

Stéphane shook his head. "Well, neither do I. And your - whatever it is he is - is staring over very curiously, so maybe you should go on back."

"Huh?"

Stéphane shrugged. "Well, what else would you do?"

"I - I don't know." Johnny was at a loss. There was Evan behind him, waiting for him to come back so that there could be more nerve-wrecking, goose-bump inducing touching and practicing. But Stéphane... "You - you honestly don't mind me spending time with him? You said, back when I -"

Stéphane snorted. "Don't get me wrong, I still think he's a complete asshole and a coward to boot, because he's never even given any indication in school that he even _knows_ you, much less spends hours with you every week doing whatever it is the two of you do -"

"We only skate!" Johnny blurted, suddenly aware that he wanted to, needed to tell Stéphane that nothing, absolutely nothing was going on, that there was no sex, no nothing between them, if only to make the bitter look vanish from Stéphane's eyes.

"Uh-huh."

"No!" Johnny took a step forward and realized he was actually taller than Stéphane now, on skates, if only just an inch. "Really, I'm not lying, why would I say no if we were - but we're not, we're just friends, I promise!"

Stéphane nodded slowly. "Okay." He swallowed. "But, you want him to be your boyfriend, don't you?"

Johnny hesitated. "I - I think so."

"So, it's fine. It is, I swear, you should know by now. Just be careful? I don't like him very much."

Johnny smiled, or at least tried to, and wanted to say something clever and smooth and eloquent, like he usually was, like he usually could twist any situation to his advantage by using words like weapons, or shields, but this time, nothing would come, so instead, he took another step and made to hug Stéphane, drawing him close, smelling the light scent of fresh bread and coffee and cinnamon rolls.

It didn't quite work out the way he wanted, because instead of returning the hug, Stéphane stiffened and recoiled, wincing as he noticed, the exact same second. Johnny felt his smile dwindle. "You're not okay."

"I am," Stéphane said with certain honesty, looking into Johnny's eyes earnestly. "Or I will be, don't worry. Just go have fun now, okay?"

Johnny watched him turn and grab his backpack, ready to leave again, to leave them alone, give them some space they wouldn't have if Stéphane was here. How the fuck did Stéphane always know what he wanted, Johnny wondered, what he needed, how did he know exactly how to behave to make Johnny feel the most miserable, and the most loved?

"I -" he started.

Stéphane smiled sweetly, touching his cheek with his fingertips. "Hey. It's really fine. We'll see each other tomorrow in class?"

"I just -"

"Like I said," he was interrupted. "Have fun."

And strangely enough, even though he didn't even feel like having fun anymore, when he went back there on the ice, Evan looking at him, half-inquiring, half-amused, asking, "'s he your boyfriend or something?", Johnny laughed and said, "Nah, my best friend." And after that, he did manage to have fun, and Evan didn't even ask stupid questions, almost as if he didn't care, or didn't want to know, and they went on like always, as they did the next time they met, and the one after that, and the one after that, too.

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

_fall 2001_

 

Summer was horrible. It was like he was missing a limb, unable to go to the rink that was closed during the hottest time of the year.

Johnny groaned as he plopped onto the grassy ground of his house's backyard and tried to catch his breath. He'd never thought running could be this exhausting, but apparently, his legs would thank him in September, when the rink opened again.

"I hate running," Stéphane grumbled and plopped down next to him, sweat dropping off his brows as he made a face. "Why can't we just take a bike? We could have made it to the other end of the fields like that... we're lucky if we make it out of town with the running."

Johnny grinned. "We'll do that tomorrow, if you still want to, then. This wasn't half bad, though. At least, it's no longer as hot as at the beginning of August. I thought the sun wanted to kill me. Bleh, I prefer winter."

"Snow storms."

"Snowball fights."

"Clearing snow off the porch and slipping on ice patches." Stéphane wrinkled his nose. "Are you sure?"

Johnny punched his shoulder, hard. "Shut up."

Stéphane glared. "Stop that, you jerk-off, since you've put on some muscle on that skinny body of yours, that's starting to really hurt. Last time you punched my shoulder, I totally had a bruise."

"Don't be a princess."

"Hah!" Stéphane laughed. "Well-said, Tinkerbelle."

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop watching Moulin Rouge, and I just might."

"Hey, don't insult my taste in movies!" Johnny growled and bounded over, throwing him back in a quick tumble, rolling him over the grass. Stéphane laughed and pushed against his shoulder, but Johnny was on top, which gave him an edge. They scuffled a bit, suddenly hot and intense, eyes locked, tingles of desire racing through their veins, breathless, until the backdoor slammed open; they flew apart like a pistol shot at the sound.

When Johnny looked up, he saw Brian standing in the doorway, holding a soccer ball. He was smirking like the complete lunatic he was. "Don't let me bother you," he said, waving his hand at them. "I'm sure you were having _lots_ of fun."

Johnny felt himself flush. "Don't be stupid. He insulted Moulin Rouge. What are you even doing here?" He was decisively not looking at Stéphane while he adjusted his pants. Stupid hormones.

"Your own fault, for liking such a pansy movie in the first place."

"It is beautiful. And tragic. But mostly, beautiful."

Brian rolled his eyes and shot Stéphane a look. "Why do you hang out with such a loser?" And before he could reply, Brian hit his own forehead and mock-groaned, "No, wait, I forgot, right, because you're hopelessly in love with him. Carry on."

Stéphane stared, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Johnny glared at his brother. "Don't be stupid."

"Yeah," Stéphane muttered. "Don't be stupid." Then he gave Johnny a wry smile. "I'm not a complete idiot, now, am I?"

Johnny grinned back a little stupidly and leaned over to tug a strand of hair out of his face, Stéphane's skin warm beneath his fingertips. "There," he said, "at least, now you don't _look_ like a complete idiot."

Stéphane pushed him away and flushed furiously.

Brian rolled his eyes at them - again - and left. He seemed to be shaking his head about something, but Johnny couldn't quite figure out what exactly it was.

 

~*~

 

School rolled around early September, senior year, and Johnny couldn't wait for it to be over so that he could go on somewhere, somewhere larger than life, like New York city or, Los Angeles or something, where he'd be able to go to college and be with people less narrow-minded and stupid and just... arrogant than people in this shitty little town.

Alas, it was still one year to go, and he'd have to sit it out. He arrived early morning, picked his locker and was about to wander to class, maths first period, and he thought he'd probably fall asleep right off the bat, because he was so tired still.

However, he snapped awake like a flashlight when he noticed Evan's locker was right next to his own and the other boy was just wandering down the hallway, looking carefully left and right. He was taller than most other students, and it looked a bit funny, with his long limbs, as he tried not to take too much space. Johnny grinned.

Evan smiled a little at him when he arrived at his locker.

Johnny swallowed his original instinct not to pursue this any further than it had gone, after all, this was his chance, right, this was fate, right, and he cleared his throat softly and said, "Uhm, hi."

Evan pushed a few books in his locker, then glanced down at him and said, "Hi."

"Uh, so, I haven't seen you all summer."

Evan nodded. "Rink was closed. I hate summers."

Johnny grinned, relieved that Evan hadn't immidiately shut him down. "Me too. I like winter the most. Are you going to -"

"Oh, hey, Evan, there you are!"

Johnny blinked at the rude interruption, turning around to give a snappy reply about common courtesy, when he found himself face-to-face with a very pretty brown-haired girl - the one he'd seen with Evan all of last year, in fact.

Evan's face transformed into a bright smile. "Tanith. I thought you were skipping first period!"

Johnny watched Evan step around him carefully, never too close, just barely seeing him, and felt like someone had stolen the ground from beneath his feet, completely off guard.

Tanith shrugged, a sheepish smile on her face. "Yes, but then I realized you'd be here and maybe I could make you skip too, and we could go get a coffee instead!" When Evan mustered her, she grinned, then, not skipping a beat, she turned to Johnny and said, "I'm sorry, dear, I didn't mean to interrupt. Are you a friend of Evan's? I'm Tanith."

Johnny opened his mouth to say yes, but Evan caught her hand in his, gave Johnny an apologetic glance and said, "No, we just have a few classes together. Our lockers are next to each other."

Tanith glanced down at their hands, back up at Evan and then at Johnny with a shrug. "Sorry to steal him away. Maybe," she winked, "I can convince him to be a bad boy today. What do you think?"

Johnny slammed his locker shut with more force necessary, making Evan half-jump, and turned to Tanith with a furious expression. "Oh, I _really_ doubt Evan could _ever_ do anything anyone would consider bad. He's such a _straight-lined_ boy."

And with that, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and left, seething.

 

~*~

 

"What the hell's wrong with you today?" Stéphane asked with a certain edge to his voice as he followed Johnny out of the school building, hurrying after him, even though his home was the other direction completely.

Johnny snorted. "I'm fine. Peachy. Just go away, okay?" Fucking hell, he hadn't even known a fucking silly boy-crush could hurt so damn much.

"Johnny!" Stéphane grabbed his arm and pulled him off the street onto the pavement. "Look, be a bitch all you want, but don't be a suicidal one and try not to get run over by a car."

"Just leave me the fuck alone!" Johnny pushed him away a bit harder than intended and Stéphane fell back, stumbling over the little gap between pavement and street. He landed on his butt and hands rather painfully. Johnny shot him a worried glance that vanished immediately when he saw Stéphane got up just fine with just a little wince.

"What the fuck, Johnny? What are you doing?" Stéphane rubbed his butt with a grimace and glared. "What is this all about?"

"Nothing that concerns you." Johnny turned and started walking away.

"Right. Fine. See if I care," Stéphane called after him.

 

~*~

 

Johnny had actually thought it had been a bluff, that day. When, after three days, there was still nothing, no word from Stéphane, he started to worry a little bit that he might have really taken it a bit far. Stéphane was still keeping his seat for him, but there was no sign of recognition on his face whenever Johnny entered a room, and he ignored every attempt to start a conversation completely, immersed in his own textbook or homework.

Wednesday afternoon, he went to Stéphane's to check up on him, maybe get some news from Christophe about how Stéphane was doing, but when he entered the bakery, there was only his mother there, and Christophe, talking quietly behind the counter.

"Hi Mrs Lambiel," Johnny smiled. "Hey, Chris."

"Oh, Johnny. How nice of you to visit."

Chris grinned. "Hey, Johnny. Wait for it," and he counted down on his fingers, three, two, one...

His mom gave him a stern look, but then turned to Johnny and beamed. "We have some leftover cake from the sale this morning. Do you want something to eat? Cub, you're still skinny as a rag, where _are_ you boys putting all that food?"

Johnny felt himself blush under her inquiring gaze. "I'm fine, thank you. I was just wondering if Stéphane's upstairs?"

"Oh no, I think he's gone out," Mrs. Lambiel said, furrowing her brow. Then she bustled out of the area into the back room where they kept all the baked goods that were off sale.

Chris smirked at Johnny then, stealthily said, "He went on a date!"

Johnny blinked, sure he'd misunderstood. "What?"

That wiped the smile right off Chris' face. "You didn't know he was seeing someone?"

"I - no. I didn't - when? Who?"

Chris stared. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Chris," Johnny said sharply. "What's going on?"

Chris shrugged, sullen. "If he didn't tell you, I sure as hell won't. And anyway, if I did tell you, he'd find out and then he'd hunt me down and probably, I don't know, run me over with those skates he has. They're dead dangerous."

"Chris! Topic! What is going on here?"

"I... don't know much," Chris defended himself. "It's only been a few days, though, I think, he doesn't talk about this shit much, _you_ know that!"

Johnny stared. "Yes," he said bitingly. "I know."

Chris gave him an uncomfortable look. "Sorry."

"So you don't know who? Or, like anything?"

Chris shook his head. "I just... I thought you knew! I thought, fuck, I thought you - fucking hell, Johnny, how can you be so damn stupid about stuff?"

"Stupid?" Johnny narrowed his eyes. "What _are_ you on about?"

Chris groaned, putting his forehead on the counter. "Why, why the hell do I get this and you don't? It's none of my business, _none_ , and still, from the few scraps of information, I get it, I fucking get more of it than I'd want to know, to be honest, and you, it's _all about fucking you_ \- hah, nice pun - and you don't get it. What's wrong with that picture?"

"Would you stop talking shit and start talking sense?" Johnny asked, annoyed.

"Let's see. He's been your best friends for years now."

"Yes. I know."

"And you're not getting to be being a bitch about this, dude, because if I hear that you've been acting out... just so you know. I have a shotgun."

Johnny stared, sinking feeling that Stéphane's family was somehow a little bit stranger than he'd thought.

"Okay," Chris said. "Okay, so, here's the blunt version."

"Blunt is good," Johnny nodded. "I get blunt. I like blunt."

"Great. Awesome. Give the guy a medal. My big brother's been trying to pique your interest, you stupid dolt."

"Uhm. Come again?"

"No, thank you. I don't particularly swing that way."

Johnny glared. "What. Are. You. Trying to say?"

"You really are that dense when it comes to feelings, aren't you? But honestly? I think you've tortured him enough."

"What? I haven't done anything!"

"Well, no, you certainly haven't, even though he's been in love with you since you guys first met. I was like, ten back then or something, and I still remember the look on his face. He was like..." Chris made a motion with his hand, accompanied by a whistling sound.

"I - he wouldn't!" Johnny finally said, feeling suddenly very, very foolish, and a little numb around his mouth. He had no idea how talking could be that hard.

"Right. Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But if he's gone over to the whole make-you-jealous routine now, I'd say that's where I draw the line. Fix it, man. Seriously. Whatever, tell him it's not going to happen, or sleep it over and realize you're madly in love yourself, I don't fucking care, just make up your damn mind, because you've been leading him on forever, and if he gets in trouble because of it... like I said. Shotgun. Your head. Appointment. Prison will be so worth it."

Johnny stared for a few more minutes, then turned on his heel and stalked towards the exit.

"He's going to kill _me_ now, though, isn't he?" Chris mumbled after him.

"Nobody's getting killed." Except maybe Stéphane, Johnny thought, breath quickening. This was just so typical. Johnny got a good slap in the face and his pride trampled on, and Stéphane was out there somewhere with some strange person trying to do whatever it was he was trying to do - _in love, fucking hell, he still couldn't believe it_. When the hell had this happened? "I gotta go," he said. "Thanks for letting me know, Chris."

Chris moaned again, but Johnny was already outside, closing the door behind him with a small jingle. There he leaned back against the building wall, closing his eyes against the dawning sun. "Fuck," he muttered and kicked off. Just great.

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

_fall 2001 still_

 

It figured, of course, that on top of everything else, the next morning, he woke up feeling so miserable that he had to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom by a rope so that he wouldn't freeze somewhere in between and stay solidified there forever.

Brian made plenty fun of the way he looked.

Brian, however, as it turned out, really wasn't the biggest of his problems. Tommy was, Tommy and two of his brainless guy friends. Admittedly, not all of them were brainless, but most of them were decidedly narrow-minded.

Johnny'd had trouble with them a few times now; he'd pranked them back as good as they gave, of course, not one to let shit sit on him, and it wasn't just once Tommy or one of his friends had found their football jerseys dyed screaming pink, funny little remarks on their helmets, or just random slippery surfaces between their way from their lockers to their classroom - though that, he admitted, had been a bit unfair to all those other ignorant students. Not that he cared.

"You look a bit worn out today, weirdo," Tommy sneered as he approached, leaning against Evan's locker. Evan's locker, Johnny noticed, which didn't have the tall, good-looking boy hanging around it, so obviously, there was no salvation coming from that corner. Not, he suspected bitterly, that there would have been any in any other case. Evan really wasn't the type to interfere or become part of those little squabbles, even, to take sides.

"What of it?" he drawled, taking out the maths book he was going to need later. It was heavy and maybe even heavy enough to destroy Tommy's last brain cell if he hit him with it hard enough.

"Nice night?" Tommy grinned.

"Beautiful," Johnny smiled back sweetly. "You missed out, love. If you'd come over like you promised, I'd have totally given it to you up the ass."

Tommy's grin vanished momentarily. "Shut your dirty mouth, you little slut," he snarled. "Or do you need me to show you how to do that? We can do a replay of the time we dunked your head into the toilets, if you want!"

"Good memories, those," Johnny said, still smiling. "I can still feel your hand on my ass, baby." He threw his locker shut and took a step back down the hall, not baring his back towards the three guys who looked decidedly on the warpath now.

He wasn't quite fast enough to get away before Tommy grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard enough that Johnny could almost hear the bones squeak in protest. He tried to pull, but it sent a flare of pain so intense through his body that he yelled. Tommy reached and instead of letting go, smashed him backwards against the row of lockers with a loud bang.

"Fuck," Johnny swore, tasting blood on his lip where he'd bitten down. His teeth rattled.

"Fuck," he heard someone else say, nearby, and then he was free and he could feel himself slide down the lockers to sit on the ground, trying to keep from passing out from the pain that was still racing up his spine.

"Leave him alone."

"Oooh, look, tough guy thinks he can take us on. Just because you're a senior now, French boy, doesn't mean you're not still the same sissy you were before. I'll break your fucking nose too, if you want, same as your boyfriend's."

Johnny worked his way up onto his feet again. The hallway stopped spinning and he saw a huge group of people collecting around them, blocking the whole passage. Stéphane was standing between him and Tommy, shoulders straight. He seemed scared, scared to hell, actually, and probably, Tommy knew that too, but he wasn't backing down either.

Johnny really didn't want to know how this would have ended - Stéphane had not just once taken a few nasty results for being friends with Johnny - if there hadn't been someone else pushing through the gathered crowd. Evan hovered over most students, and he didn't look too happy with what was going on.

"C'mon, Tommy, get going, you too, Johnny, get off the hallway. You're blocking the whole transit, people are trying to get to their classes."

Tommy glared at Evan, but though he was bulkier, Evan wasn't really a push-over either, so he slumped and shrugged, taking off instead, seeing that as the numbers had evened now, there was no point in throwing his weight around.

Stéphane turned to Evan for a second, gazing him over, before he turned back and looked at Johnny carefully. "Are you okay?"

Johnny rubbed the back of his head, but there was just a slight bump there, so he nodded and smiled. "Mh-mh. Nothing serious."

Stéphane sighed. "Fuck." He looked like he wanted to step closer, touch, maybe, or just... hug, or something, but he held back, instead took even one more step back, almost like he was making place for Evan to come closer if he wanted to. Johnny wanted him to stay. Johnny wanted him to hug and maybe even kiss and he didn't give a damn anymore what he was supposed to want and what not.

The hallway was emptying quickly, people roaming towards their classrooms or lockers. The show was over, and nobody had won, so there was nothing else that needed spectators any longer. Sometimes, high school was so predictable.

"Thanks," Stéphane finally said to Evan when he realized Johnny wasn't going to say anything.

Evan shrugged. "There was a traffic jam. Someone had to get everyone to move."

"I see." Stéphane narrowed his eyes, but then he gave up and turned to Johnny, said, "Well, I'll - I guess I'll see you in class."

"No. No, we should all get to class." Johnny sighed. "The bell rang like ten minutes ago, we really should -"

"Right," the other two agreed immediately, both looking out of sorts at the timing.

Johnny gave a snort and picked up the book he'd dropped. It was going to be a long day, he could already feel it.

 

~*~

 

Johnny waited until after school, then he waited some more for Stéphane to pack up his things, before he pulled him into an abandoned classroom on the same floor. It wasn't perfect, but he didn't know what was going on right now and after the few days they'd had, it might have been presumptious to invite Stéphane over to his room.

"Right," Stéphane said when Johnny closed the door after himself. "What's this about then?"

"First, thanks. For back there, before lessons started. I -"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. You keep saying that, but it's really not. I was a total jerk about stuff, and I'm sorry for being a bitch a few days back and for hurting you." Johnny glanced at him from beneath his eyelashes. "When I pushed you and stuff. I really am sorry for that."

Stéphane gave him a long look. "So what was that day about?"

Johnny tilted his head. "Who're you dating?"

"What?"

"You heard me. I went over to yours yesterday. I was told you were on a date. If you want me to share, why don't you go first?"

Stéphane's cheeks reddened. "It was nothing."

"Nothing doesn't look like nothing to me."

"Fine, it was a guy I met at the bakery, he asked me out for a coffee and I went."

Johnny narrowed his eyes, feeling a little tug inside that made him wish he had no feelings at all, because it felt ugly and big and it hurt like hell. "Once?" he couldn't help but ask.

Stéphane shook his head, shrugged. "Your turn."

"Fucking fine," Johnny growled. "So I made a complete idiot out of myself running after stupid Evan. Who has a girlfriend. That day when I pushed you, that's when I found out."

Stéphane's eyebrows rose. "You met Tanith?"

He seemed to realize the moment he said the words that it was a huge mistake, because he paled, but Johnny'd already realized and stared at him, jaw hitting rock bottom. "You fucking knew? You -" he felt like hyperventilating. "You shitty lying little fucker, you fucking _knew_ and you let me run after him like some wanton slut, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Stéphane regarded him coolly. "It's not like I didn't tell you it was pointless."

"You _never_ even implied you knew he had a fucking girlfriend!"

"He didn't have one. Not until during summer vacations. They got together this summer."

"And you didn't bother to tell me because..."

"It wasn't my place to tell. I knew they were good friends and that he was most probably straight and in love with her, but I didn't know for sure, did I, and you're great, amazing, so I thought maybe he'd fall for you instead. Was that a bad thing to do?" Stéphane gave him a hard look. "I can apologize, if you want me to. Not that I'll really be sorry, since I didn't do anything wrong."

Johnny felt like bursting with anger. He was so furious that he thought he might die if he didn't do something, anything, to get rid of that horrible feeling inside himself that told him it was all someone's fault here, and certainly not his own. He clenched his hands to fists, a roll of stupid, reckless, completely irrational temper pulling him down, and in a matter of two steps, he was by Stéphane's side, drawing him close by the collar of his shirt.

Their lips clashed, unexpected and hard and painful, and Stéphane winced back, but Johnny held on and pressed on and then, Stéphane suddenly gave in, slumped in his arms, opening his mouth and Johnny slipped his tongue in his mouth, a sensation of warmth and tingles washing over him like an ocean wave of salt water.

He pulled back immediately, running the back of his hand over his mouth. "That's what you've wanted, isn't it?" he spat. "But you know what, that was the worst kiss of my life and you know what else?"

Stéphane watched him, eyes guarded, but his lower lip was trembling and he seemed to realize, because he bit down on it, hard. He looked close to tears. Johnny didn't think he'd ever felt so completely pathetic and delirious at once, power washing over him.

"What?" Stéphane asked, voice hollow.

"You may have thought it was funny watching me crushing on a guy with a girlfriend, but it's not like you're that different are you. Actually, you're even worse. I've been treating you like shit, and you still want me to kiss you senseless. That's funny to watch, isn't it?"

Stéphane raised his hand slowly, and the punch came completely unexpected, because Johnny'd thought he'd maybe wipe away a tear or rub his forehead. He stumbled back from the impact, catching his halt on a nearby table. When the stars had vanished from before his eyes, Stéphane was gone.

Johnny crumbled to the floor, putting his head on his knees, arms around his legs, and started to draw in breath in deep, sobbing breaths. He hated his life, he really did.

 

~*~

 

Skating was the only thing he could think of after all that that would maybe make him feel a little better, so he went home, got his skates, ignored Brian's shocked comment on the bruise under his eye and his miserable, teary-eyes expression and hurried to the rink.

What he had completely forgotten over all this was that it was Evan's practice day in addition, and Evan was just coming in when Johnny was tying his skates, places reversed for once.

"Oh - _oh_ , what the - Johnny, what happened to your face? Did the guys get you sometime later or something?" Evan's face would have been hilarious if Johnny hadn't felt so upset about what he'd said to deserve the bruise.

"No," he said. "That was Stéphane."

"Ah. The not-quite-boyfriend."

"Stop it," Johnny said gravelly. "Seriously. Just shut the fuck up."

"Whoa." Evan stared. "Bad break-up?"

The temper rose like a fucking sleeping dragon. "It's your fucking fault," he cracked. "What is this supposed to be, like, your secret platonic affair or something? What is this, are you making flirting into a hobby, or are you waiting for me to make a move? Because I can, you know? Here, I'll show you!" And with that, Johnny - not even needed to stand on his tip-toes since he was already wearing skates, pulled him down and smacked him on the lips.

Evan didn't even linger like Stéphane had, didn't open his mouth to accept the kiss, just grasped his shoulders and gently pried him off, keeping his hands where they were. His brown eyes were shocked, a little, and slightly confused, as he blinked.

"What are you talking about?"

"You led me on!" Johnny blurted. "You -"

Evan kept staring at him. "I did?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"I - I don't know!"

"Well..."

"I don't fucking know. I thought - I thought you were - that you wanted - but -"

Evan shrugged. "I thought you wanted to learn figure skating. I admit I'm not all that far ahead anymore since I only started like two years before you did and you're quick to catch up, but I never - I didn't think - why didn't you just ask? I'd have told you I've got a girlfriend and I'm not even really - I mean, you're cute and, like, nice and clever and stuff, but -"

Johnny swallowed. "It's all because _he_ kept saying you wanted in my pants!"

"What? Who?"

"Stéphane, who else?"

"Oh." Evan tilted his head. "And you didn't think he might be saying it because he was, like, jealous?"

Johnny groaned and pulled out of Evan's grasp. "Why does everyone keep saying that to me?"

"Because it's a little bit obvious that you guys are like, completely in love with each other?" Evan blinked. "It's probably why people confuse you for being boyfriends all the time, too."

"I am not!"

Evan blinked again. "No?" He shrugged. "Fine, then. Can we get to practice now? I actually came here to ... skate."

Johnny plopped back down onto the seat and said, helplessly, "I'm really not!"

 

~*~

 

Of course, he really was, he just had no idea how to fix what he'd done earlier. He could go and say he was confused, but probably, that wouldn't work so well. After all, he'd said some pretty nasty things.

But Stéphane was smart. He'd figure out Johnny hadn't really meant them. Wouldn't he? He wasn't a mind-reader, though, Johnny reminded himself. Stéphane'd probably been really hurt. The thought made Johnny feel horrible inside.

"I'm a horrible person," he mumbled, sitting down on the couch next to Brian, who was watching a soccer game on TV.

"Oh, have figured that out now, have you?" Brian said smugly. "That's what you get for trying to sell your own brother into slavery. Be suffering, wench!"

Johnny gave him a strange look. "What have you been taking?"

Brian grinned. "Stéphane brought over some chocolate."

Johnny jumped. "What?"

"Yeah. He was here before, but I knew you were skating, so I told him that you were. He made a strange face, man. He looked like he was about to cry." Brian sat up suddenly and turned towards him to look at Johnny. "Dude, is that what - are you a horrible person because you did something to Stéphane? Because if you did, I don't think Chris will let you live, honestly. I should sell _you_ into slavery."

Johnny groaned. "Go ahead. I probably deserve it, too."

"What did you do?" Brian sounded way too interested.

"Imighthavekindakissedhim," Johnny mumbled.

"What?" Brian's eyebrows rose. "How's that a bad thing? I'd have thought it was high time you guys got around to the good part of any relationship."

"Oh?" Johnny asked nastily. "Is that what your relationship with Lacoste is all about?"

Brian scowled. "Horrible person, Johnny."

Johnny's face fell. "Sorry."

"So, what did you really do?"

"I kissed him," Johnny repeated. "But then, I might have told him was he a horrible kisser and that I thought he was a complete idiot for being in love with me."

Brian looked at him appalled. "Get off the couch, man. I don't want that disease, in case it's catching."

Johnny let himself fall back into the pillows. "I'm a horrible, horrible person."

Brian sighed. "Maybe, if you begged, like, on your knees? A ring would be good, too. He might consider not treating you like a bug for the rest of his life.

Johnny's face brightened. "But Stéphane loves bugs. You think he'd take me back if I was a lady-bug?"

Brian made a gagging sound.

 

~*~

 

Johnny actually practiced that evening in front of the mirror, and it looked damn stupid, he knew that himself, but getting just the right pronounciation of "I'm in love with you too and please, please forgive me because I think you're a great kisser and also, I don't hate you, I really, really don't hate you, and I want you back!" was very important.

However, the next day, after school, instead of listening to him, Stéphane gave him the cold shoulder and ignored him, even physically moving him out of the way when Johnny tried to grab his wrist.

"I'm done with you," he said sharply and walked away.

Johnny had had no idea, until that moment, what it would mean if he ever lost his best friend, but along with the realization that what he really felt, what he'd felt for a long time, shown in glimpses of affectionate hair-pulling and almost-kisses and lingering too long when they lay on Johnny's bed side by side, it felt like a squirrel had taken up permanent residence in his chest area and was happily munching away at his heart.

Bombarding him with text messages and phone messages and little letters saying "Sorry" didn't seem to have any effect, either, so in the end, Johnny took drastic action - actually, Brian had kicked his ass rather thoroughly to get him to move into enemy territory - but Johnny steeled himself against the images of random shotguns popping into his mind at inopportune moments and went over to Stéphane's house, as he should have done days ago.

Stéphane's sister was for once minding the bakery, which was just as well. She seemed to have no idea what was going on, because she had a beam on her face when she saw him. She'd been in college all year and maybe, he figured, she was over for the weekend.

"Johnny, how are you?" she asked, friendly.

"I'm okay. Stéphane's upstairs, right?"

"Think so, yeah, but he's been kinda down lately. It's nice of you to come over. Cheer him up for me, kay?"

Johnny smiled bitterly. "We're hoping for the same thing, here."

He knew Stéphane's room by heart, but still, when he knocked and stepped inside, he felt like it stepping into an alternative universe. For one, it was bathed in dusky darkness, only illuminated by a few candles placed around, for the other, some kind of Spanish gypsy music was coming out of the stereo and that made Johnny, resolved as he was, revert back to old patterns.

Which was, basically, to snark, "Oh fuck, you have got to be kidding me! You've gone over to the dark side! Emo, Stéphane? Is this how low you've sunk?"

Stéphane came out from under his covers like a snake uncoiling, glaring brutally. "Fuck off, you miserable little rat. I hate you."

"What is this?" Johnny snorted. "The Spanish version of Unbreak my Heart?"

"Like I said," Stéphane replied. "Fuck off. Need me to spell it out?"

Johnny stepped closer and looked around gingerly. "Hey, is Chris at home?"

Stéphane's glare turned into confusion, then realization. "No, asshole," he snapped. "He's out there with his shotgun, looking for you."

Johnny winced. "He told you, huh?"

"Did you think he wouldn't?"

"... kinda?"

Stéphane sighed and sat up a little. "Is that what the little scene was about then?" he asked.

"... kinda?" Johnny repeated.

"Why do you have to be such a pain, Johnny?" Stéphane asked, and he sounded really hurt suddenly, tired and exhausted, almost like he'd given up.

"I don't know," Johnny said timidly. "I'm really sorry, though. Afterwards. Most of the time."

Stéphane poked his back. "I know. Doesn't make it hurt any less."

Johnny felt his eyes tear and looked away. "I love you."

Silence reigned for a few minutes, neither of them really breathing, just kind of waiting for something to drop, some kind of bomb, maybe, with a huge explosion that would destroy the whole world.

Nothing happened.

Johnny breathed out slowly. Stéphane wasn't looking at him, was looking at his hands, and Johnny felt like getting up and running, right now, getting out of the room, this instant, because this was way scary.

Then Stéphane finally nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" Johnny gaped. "Okay? That's it? That's all I get? Okay?"

Stéphane's gaze hardened. "What do you expect me to do? Tomorrow, you'll go back lusting after random assholes and -"

"You don't know that," Johnny interrupted hotly. "I've never even been with anyone before, and Evan was different, you know he was, and if I'd known I was in love with you before, I might still have looked, but I wouldn't have - I _wouldn't_ , I swear, and if you'll have me, I'll prove it to you!"

Stéphane seemed to honestly consider the little speech, for a long time, barely five minutes, but still, for Johnny's taste far too long.

Then, in the end, he rolled over and said, "Get in, then."

And that was, probably, Johnny realized, all he was getting for now. He tried not to be disappointed, tried not to let it show, instead pulling off his shoes and climbing in to Stéphane, touching his stomach to warn him before he curled his arms around his waist and pulled him close, burying his face in his hair.

"I really, really like this," he said, just to be clear, because well. It was the truth. He was done lying, for now.

Stéphane smiled a little, and then, his fingers slowly snug beneath Johnny's shirt at his back and he put a small peck on his mouth before he whispered, "I like you, too. A lot more than you deserve."

Johnny hit his shoulder and Stéphane grinned and squirmed against him and they both froze, because the situation was so familiar, matching reddening cheeks, blushes up and down the line, but then, it was different too, now, with the fronts clear, and Johnny nibbed at Stéphane's ear and said, "Just wait till you find out about my mad love-making skills. You won't be saying that _then_."

Stéphane laughed. "Promises, promises."

Johnny thought they were really good ones, though.

 

~*~


End file.
